Eugenie Verneyhttps://www.eugenieverney.com
Ethical Marketing & PRMon, 05 Nov 2018 11:35:14 +0000en-GBhourly1https://wordpress.org/?v=4.9.9https://www.eugenieverney.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/cropped-eugenieverneyBA.02-32x32.jpgEugenie Verneyhttps://www.eugenieverney.com
3232When you can’t actually toe the line…https://www.eugenieverney.com/when-you-cant-actually-toe-the-line/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/when-you-cant-actually-toe-the-line/#commentsMon, 05 Nov 2018 11:26:14 +0000https://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34445I’d got away with it before, but not this time. And it’s always the mundane stuff: while I was changing the duvet cover, I slammed my left foot into the very solid leg of the wooden bed frame. All five toes made contact and I felt something crunch. I gingerly removed my sock to see […]

And it’s always the mundane stuff: while I was changing the duvet cover, I slammed my left foot into the very solid leg of the wooden bed frame. All five toes made contact and I felt something crunch.

I gingerly removed my sock to see the toe next to my left big toe doing a pretty good impression of the leaning tower of Pisa. So without thinking, I crunched it back to something resembling upright and sat back to take in the damage.

Not pretty.

The NHS only offers you an x-ray if you trash your big toe, so an actual diagnosis has been guesswork. And my guess is I either broke it or it was dislocated and all the ligaments have been in (very) tender healing mode. Or both.

Nearly three weeks on, I’m still not certain. There’s been a lot of bruising — the other toes and a lot of the rest of the foot came out in sympathy — and a lot of limping about wearing shoes as little as possible. I’ve strapped it to its big toe neighbour to prevent another Pisa and had several lovely Pranic energy therapy sessions to help accelerate the healing process.

So I’m getting there, and let me stress that this isn’t an exercise in self-pity — stuff happens, and in the grand scheme of things, this is exceedingly trivial stuff.

What it has been, though, is a salutary reminder to never, ever take your body for granted.

My injured toe is a tiny player and yet the consequences of losing its contribution to the smooth working of the whole machine have been pretty significant.

Specifically…

Until last weekend, no swimming.

Until yesterday, no paddleboarding.

And until some time a good way into the future, no running.

Other types of exercise — including yoga and most strength work — have also taken a hit as they all at some point involve fully functioning toes that don’t screech when weight is applied.

But I’m getting there, and climbing — albeit gingerly and very carefully — back on my beloved Starboard was a massive buzz and definitely a risk worth taking. I’d already cracked the open water swimming a week earlier, just by being very cautious getting in and out of the lake, and that had cheered me up no end, not least because we’re now down to single figure temperatures. I love that cold water challenge and did not want to start losing my acclimatisation.

When it came to paddling, however, there was only one way to find out whether it would be doable and in theory it looks like it might not be — it is, after all, called ‘stand-up’ paddleboarding. But in fact, you don’t need to put your full weight on your toes unless you’re moving around the board to do step back turns or you’re playing in the surf, and I was doing neither.

So on a gentle Bray Lake day, I just planted my feet on my board, set off, and with huge relief quickly realised it would be OK. I was careful, I was slow, but I still clocked up 8k as my body woke up and got back into a familiar and most welcome groove.

Meanwhile, the toe’s healing continued undisturbed — it felt fine when I got off the board; it feels fine now. Phew!

What mattered most though was being back in touch with what drives me, inspires me, and keeps me moving forward. And I am more grateful than ever to my body for making that possible…

]]>https://www.eugenieverney.com/when-you-cant-actually-toe-the-line/feed/3‘Only look back to see how far you’ve come…’https://www.eugenieverney.com/only-look-back-to-see-how-far-youve-come/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/only-look-back-to-see-how-far-youve-come/#commentsWed, 10 Oct 2018 11:39:06 +0000https://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34423My second guest blogger is also one of my role models! I got to know Susan Jones first as a formidable stand-up paddleboarder: she’s focused, disciplined, and as a competitor highly accomplished. As a club mate — she also trains at Bray Lake — Susan is wise, supportive, and a lot of fun. But of […]

I got to know Susan Jones first as a formidable stand-up paddleboarder: she’s focused, disciplined, and as a competitor highly accomplished. As a club mate — she also trains at Bray Lake — Susan is wise, supportive, and a lot of fun.

But of course — as is generally the case with remarkable women — there’s so much more to Susan’s story than I could have ever imagined….

Guest blogger Susan Jones

Tell me a little about yourself — where you’re from, where you live now, your family…

I was born in 1951, in Salford, and I now live in Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire, with my second husband, Rod.

My late mother was a clever woman, but bitter because she had to give up work when she married. As a young woman, she’d been very slim but put on weight when she had me and my two brothers. I hated her being so big and when my first husband said: ‘Don’t ever get fat like your mother’, I swore to myself that I never would. An anti-role model, if ever there was one!

She outlived my father by some years — he died very suddenly from a heart attack, aged 69. I respected and loved him very much, for his character and expertise as an engineer.

I was educated at Manchester High School for Girls and then read French at St Anne’s College, Oxford. I speak fluent French — mostly the result of spending three months immersed at a Paris lycee when I was 16! — and I taught it for seven years before taking a career break to have my children.

My son contracted pneumonia immediately after he was born in 1980. I didn’t hold him until he was six days old, and at one point he was only given a 50-50 chance of surviving. But thankfully he did and is now a strapping 38-year-old builder and a dad himself! My daughter arrived two years later, and she recently became a mum.

Once they were both at school, I held a series of sales and marketing positions with the Cambridge University Press and then — later on — worked with Rod in his business until he was bought out and I left to look after my elderly mother.

I’ve had my fair share of personal trauma over the years including several sudden and unexpected family bereavements. No need for all the grim details, but the year before my son was born I miscarried twins at 20 weeks. One survived for a few hours, so we were able to have a funeral, and I feel very fortunate that I was able to grieve more fully than many who experience perinatal death.

You refer to your ‘first husband’ — can you share what happened there?

When the children were 13 and 11, I found out that my husband was having an affair. This couple’s children were the same ages as ours, and we spent a lot of time together — biking, sailing, skiing, partying… I therefore knew the ‘other woman’ very well, and knew that she and my husband really did get on. So I decided to offer to leave the family home on condition that she and her children move in and our children suffered no disruption.

I’d seen too many embittered women whose husbands had left them with the children, and I was determined that wouldn’t happen to us. So we all agreed to remain amicable and we put everything in place within a few weeks. I have had to deal with guilt around my decision, but I still feel it was the right one.

Wow! All of that would have broken some women. How have you got through it?

Yes, a lot of bereavement, a lot of pain — physical and psychological — much anger, sadness and guilt. All of which can either take you down or make you stronger. I’ve learned the importance of grief, the acceptance of guilt, the power of forgiveness, and the effectiveness of positive decisions.

I’ve learned to focus on the good experiences and to never look back in anger.

One of my key tenets now is ‘family first’, and family is taking up more and more of my time — time I give gladly and unconditionally. That feeling that I should be doing something else just melts away when it comes to my family. Someone once said to me: ‘You love your children, but you fall in love with your grandchildren’, and I couldn’t agree more.

Before we look at you and sport, do you have any other interests?

I’m secretary of the Beaconsfield Community Association, membership secretary of the Beaconsfield Twinning Association, and I organise and lead ‘Brush Up Your French’ sessions which I host at home.

I keep my French up to date, and I’m trying to improve my Spanish, and my Italian, though that’s on the back burner until I have more time. As is German.

And so to sport — SUP apart, what’s your story here?

I played netball at school, but I neglected exercise while at Oxford in favour of my social life (oh, and doing the work needed to get a degree!).

Sailing and skiing were both a big part of my first married life. We started skiing in 1976, loved it and and went as often as we could. I occasionally skied with Rod after we got together, but he was never keen and I’d pretty much given up hope of ever skiing again until my daughter invited me to her hen do in Morzine. By then, I’d had my left hip replaced due to osteo-arthritis and I had to ask myself if I could do this, aged 64.

One session on a dry slope showed I hadn’t lost it, and I had a marvellous week in France, even — dare I say it? — out-skiing some of the younger members of the party!

I began sailing dinghies in the late 1970s before moving up to larger yachts. But all that ended with my first marriage and I’ve not sailed since. However, I am now a member of the Upper Thames Sailing Club — so I have a river base on for my SUP! — and I’m not ruling out crewing for someone again one day.

Rod and I met in 1996 when I was 45, and I took up golf as he was a keen player. I had lessons and won some competitions. I got down to a 24 handicap but eventually my hip stopped me playing. However, like sailing, I may come back to golf in later life!

I did yoga for several years, and still incorporate yoga poses into my home exercises, and I’m a great fan of Nordic walking. Rod and I also took tai chi and qigong lessons.

That’s quite a track record! So how did you get into SUP?

It began after I bought a beach hut at Hayling Island in Hampshire in 2010. I saw someone out on the water on a paddleboard and was intrigued. But it wasn’t until two years later that I had my first lesson at Hayling, aged 61.

Then I discovered Bray Lake was just a half hour from home and by the end of August 2012, I’d bought my first inflatable board. My first race was in October that year — I came last and was completely hooked!

My first race outside Bray was the British SUP Club Championships at Eton Dorney in August 2013 — only six kilometres and a few turns, but a huge milestone for me.

Then everything went on hold while I had my hip replaced in November 2013. My goal was to be fully fit for the start of the 2014 season — I did absolutely everything I was told and started training as soon as I was allowed.

Susan showing me how it’s done during the 2018 National GB SUP Series 12’6″ finale at Sandbanks where she was first over-60 woman. I meanwhile spectacularly failed to finish… Photo: Sarah Thornely

My 63rd birthday present to myself was a brand new 12’ 6” 2014 Starboard All Star carbon board and I’ve been racing on it ever since. In that year’s UK race series, I was first woman in the 52+ age category in my class; this year I came first again in my age group and fourth woman in the 12′ 6″ board category.

As a break from paddleboarding, Bray team mate Lisa Walden and I hatched a plan to complete the 1.4 mile Pier to Pier charity swim in Bournemouth in summer 2015. I’d always supported my daughter in her triathlons, and had wondered whether I could do a distance swim myself. Here was my chance.

So I began open water swimming aged 64 and on the day, we smashed it in a favourable wind and tide. Though I don’t do it often, it’s great knowing I can swim a distance in open water.

I’d no idea you were an open water swimmer as well! OK, so what has been your biggest SUP challenge so far?

That came in June 2017, when I was 66: the Norfolk Broads Ultra, 80 kilometres over two days. I trained hard physically and mentally because after the first day, you have to get up and do it all over again! It was the hottest day of the summer, 30C-plus, but I survived and completed the course. I had planned everything — clothes, nutrition, and hydration — very carefully, and it all worked.

That race ranks as one of my greatest achievements.

With SUP, my main aspiration is to maintain the fitness and strength needed to keep on paddling competitively. Once I can’t really do that meaningfully any more, I will move to the ‘leisure’ fleet, and after that just paddle when and where I can. This is the beauty of SUP — it can be enjoyed on so many levels.

I am, as you know, in awe of your achievements on your Starboard! Is there anything else that you believe contributes to your success?

Understanding one’s body and what happens to it as we age is key. Many people who get aches and pains just take tablets and stop doing things but that’s not my way. For me, it’s really important to get expert advice, make a plan, and execute it — just like in business!

That said, I know I’m fortunate to be able to afford private health insurance and take full advantage of the many complementary therapies not available on the NHS. For example, I do now experience pain in my right hip and had begun to think it might also need replacing. However, I found the Health Lodge in Hillingdon and they’ve identified key things I can work on. I’m doing very specific exercises to re-balance my left glute and hip flexor.

One thing I’ve always had, for over 30 years, is a personal trainer — from long before it was fashionable! I believe this is the best way to make sure you train correctly and are pushed to achieve your best.

Is there anything you do now you’re well into your 60s just to make you feel good?

I mentioned my ‘anti-role model’ mother, and I do believe there’s really no excuse now not to understand weight and the role of nutrition — indeed, it should be our prime concern, for health, fitness and disease prevention.

But for all we can keep our bodies in shape as we age, faces are another matter! And it’s true that plumper women often have fewer lines and wrinkles. So I recently had dermal filler injections. The result? Nobody noticed — or if they did, they didn’t say! But that’s not the point. I feel happy, because I feel I do look different, and therefore for me it was money well spent. Money I may well spend again…

I’ve also used DNAFit to find the best nutrition and and training for my own genetic profile. This has helped me look differently at both, and my view is that if it’s out there, use the technology!

And finally any advice for women as they move from their 50s into their 60s and beyond?

I welcomed being 50 as my 40s — as you’ve read — were very mixed. I never thought much about being 60, but now I’m staring 70 in the face, my philosophy is still the same: think about your age as a positive, not a negative.

Live each day as well as you can and only look back to see how far you’ve come.

Main image: Susan near the finish of the 2018 GB National SUP Series race in Cardiff, where she came in first over-60 in the 12’6″ race class. Photo: Sarah Thornely

]]>https://www.eugenieverney.com/only-look-back-to-see-how-far-youve-come/feed/4Setting myself a new average SUP speed — and a target to beat!https://www.eugenieverney.com/setting-myself-a-new-average-sup-speed-and-a-target-to-beat/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/setting-myself-a-new-average-sup-speed-and-a-target-to-beat/#commentsFri, 05 Oct 2018 12:21:47 +0000https://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34406A quick update from the SUP front… This week I took part in my first standup paddleboard time trial, at Bray Lake SUP Club night on 3 October — and, to my amazement, set my fastest average speed yet! In the grand scheme of all things SUP, I am very far from fast but it’s […]

This week I took part in my first standup paddleboard time trial, at Bray Lake SUP Club night on 3 October — and, to my amazement, set my fastest average speed yet!

In the grand scheme of all things SUP, I am very far from fast but it’s another step in the right direction and I went home feeling pretty chuffed with myself.

As you can see, my Suunto watch recorded 2.02 kilometres (once around the lake, pretty much) at an average of 7.4kph. And that is a faster pace than I’ve ever managed to maintain before.

The conditions were perfect — flat calm, no wind, early evening — and that obviously helped. But a benchmark is a benchmark, and I’m very happy with that one.

So my goal now is to bring my 2k time down from this week’s 16 minutes 17 seconds to 15:15 by the end of the year.

Let’s see how that rolls…

Meanwhile, Saturday 29 September saw me take part in my second British SUP Club Championships, and no longer in the novice class! It was a simply amazing day, from start to finish, and I’m proud to have clocked up a few vital points towards the total that helped place Bray Lake fourth out of 17 SUP clubs from all over England and Wales. (None yet from Scotland, but it’s surely only a matter of time…)

The sun shone all day: as soon as the mist had burned off the lake (I had a quick swim first thing as well), it was wall-to-wall blue skies all day long, no wind, and beautifully warm. Just glorious.

I also came home with some bling — third of three women (all of us over 51!) in the 12’6″ hard board technical race. This event was an absolute blast, and it was brilliant to be racing against so many other paddlers on home turf! I still have loads to learn about start line and buoy turn tactics — and in particular about not being intimidated by testosterone — but I was more than happy to finish 10th overall out of 25 women in various board classes.

Top half of the field always feels good…

Massive congratulations to everyone who took part — there were more than 220 competitors — and especially to my club mates, including Lisa Walden who took first place in my race class and to Cat Derham and Issie Jolliffe who took first and third respectively in the inflatable class. Plus an enormous ‘thank you’ to the Bray staff who made sure the day ran like clockwork and to Bray Lake member and race organiser Fiona Batson for her jaw-dropping project management skills.

I came away with only one regret: there are no photos of me in action on my beautiful Starboard! Or indeed of me on the podium. Or indeed anywhere at all. Or video. Memo to self: be better organised next year and make sure to get someone to wield a phone in my general direction at some point during the day — and ditto for the rest of the Bray team!

PS: In a final bit of feel-good news, my efforts during the year in the GB SUP National Series helped Bray Lake finish with the top 12’6″ women’s team and come out as top club overall.

]]>https://www.eugenieverney.com/setting-myself-a-new-average-sup-speed-and-a-target-to-beat/feed/2How I managed to rob myself of a place on the podiumhttps://www.eugenieverney.com/how-i-managed-to-rob-myself-of-a-place-on-the-podium/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/how-i-managed-to-rob-myself-of-a-place-on-the-podium/#respondThu, 27 Sep 2018 14:59:24 +0000https://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34396That moment when you realise you’ve just been a bit of a numpty and you’re wishing you could rewind for a couple of minutes? Yup. That was me as I faffed about just off the beach close to Hayling Island Sailing Club after I’d finished what had been a very satisfactory stand-up padleboard race. At […]

]]>That moment when you realise you’ve just been a bit of a numpty and you’re wishing you could rewind for a couple of minutes?

Yup. That was me as I faffed about just off the beach close to Hayling Island Sailing Club after I’d finished what had been a very satisfactory stand-up padleboard race.

At least, I thought I’d finished. But I hadn’t.

It had all been going so well. The sea was altogether playable — none of the absurd chop I’d had to navigate the last time I was at Hayling — and as we reached the halfway point of this nine-mile out-and-back race to Langstone Bridge, I was second woman and having a blast on my beautiful Starboard.

Then I heard voices — distinctly female voices — behind me and about half way back to the finish, another woman drew alongside. We paddled side by side and then, closer in, another woman cruised alongside. The three of us were pretty much neck and neck until Woman A (Lorraine Grant in real life!) blocked me magnificently to get away and Woman B (Sadie Bedford) pulled a little bit ahead as well.

Now I was in fourth place — but wait! Sadie just fell in. Great, I thought. All I have to do is get in front of her and I’m on the podium.

Except I hadn’t been paying full attention at the — rather lengthy and not always audible — pre-race briefing. I’d assumed you passed a marker buoy and that was the race over. But no. You had to get out of the water and carry your board onto the beach to be classed as a finisher.

So as I slowly ambled towards the shore thinking it was all done and dusted, Sadie — by now out of the water and back on her board — whizzed past me and snaffled the third woman’s place on the podium.

Duh.

The moral of that one is: pay full attention at race briefings and even if you’re 100% sure, still double bloody check…

But not all was lost: to my surprise, and despite my costly mistake, I came in eighth overall out of 24 finishers. Plus it was indeed a really enjoyable day out, though Bray Lake colleagues who completed the full 14-mile Hayling Island Challenge begged to differ.

Theirs was a very different race with some extremely challenging conditions that would have seen me record another seaside DNF in a nanosecond! Take a look at this great video by Maurice Richardson of the full race, especially from two minutes in when his wife Andrea and our fellow Bray Laker Dave Flynn are seen doing serious battle with the challenging conditions…

But I definitely aspire to take on the full distance — and when I do I’ll make absolutely sure I know where the finish line is…

That was on 22 September, a week after my now annual appearance at the Lamlash Splash open water swim on Arran.

This time I knew exactly where the finish line was and what I needed to do to cover the 1.3 miles from glorious Holy Isle (of which more in a future post) back to Lamlash. Or I thought I did.

Calm before the storm, with Holy Isle — the Lamlash Splash start point — behind me.

As this was my fourth sortie, I figured I had it pretty much sussed: I’d so far twice recorded 55 minutes, give or take, plus a slightly disappointing 58 minutes. So a time somewhere around the 55-minute mark seemed altogether doable.

However, and as yet another sharp reminder not to take anything for granted where the sea is concerned, this crossing was a little different. As we were ferried to the start, I could see there was more chop than I’d experienced before here — not surprising, as the week running up to the swim had seen consistently strong winds — and the air temperature was lower.

On their own, a bit of chop and a chill in the air aren’t usually an issue, and I wasn’t even particularly concerned when I got in the water and realised it had dropped a degree or so since the acclimatisation swim I’d done two days earlier. Besides, I was fully neoprened as this is a wetsuit-compulsory event and I’d added gloves and feet, mainly as jellyfish barriers.

But what I hadn’t taken into account was the sum total of all that plus a turning tide. Why? Because it hadn’t been an issue in 2015, 2016, or 2017! This time, however, the combination of the wind, the turbulent water, the odd squally shower, and the tide meant I found myself doing that ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ thing for what felt like the longest time.

At no point did I think I wouldn’t finish, though, and I was strong enough and proficient enough at sighting to maintain a pretty straight course. I was nonetheless exceedingly glad to stumble up the slipway at Lamlash and declare it ‘job done’.

Job done! With my daughter Claire after she’d reassured me that everyone had recorded a slower-than-normal time

Then I looked at my watch, and… What?! That 1.3 miles took me 1 hour and 14 minutes, nearly 20 minutes longer than the year before.

Just as I began beating myself up, my daughter Claire — who is now chief Lamlash Splash timekeeper! — firmly told me to stop. Everyone had been slower — the winner by just shy of 10 minutes — and two swimmers had been pulled so far north by the current that they needed rescuing.

Oh, and the water temperature was around 12C — a tad different from the 20C+ of Bray Lake I’d come from!

With that perspective, I was able to give myself a modest pat on the back instead. I’d already been aware of the SUP-swim synergy but competing against the pull of that Lamlash Bay tide revealed just how much stronger my shoulders and arms have become since I began paddling. I may not be any faster in the water — that’s down to my iffy technique — but there’s definitely more power in my stroke to stay on course and I can consequently keep going for longer.

All of which just goes to show — yet again — that you really are never too old to surprise yourself, in this case by building new muscle and strength. For the first time in my life, for example, I now have visible biceps and this is ridiculously satisfying because no matter how fit I’ve been in the past, they’ve always stayed hidden. Not hidden under flab, but just not noticeable, irrespective of how long I’ve spent giving them my focus in the gym.

Now they are proudly on show, and I’m loving it! Watch this space for further muscly updates…

Meanwhile, next stop is the technical race for 12’6″ paddle boards — that means lots of buoy turns — at the British SUP Club Championships on 29 September where I’ll be aiming to get as many points as possible for host team Bray Lake.

Main image: Near the start of the Hayling Island Challenge — I just did the nine-mile out-and-back race to Langstone Bridge. I’m on the right and looking a little weirdly hunched as I was wearing a buoyancy aid!

]]>https://www.eugenieverney.com/how-i-managed-to-rob-myself-of-a-place-on-the-podium/feed/0Counting down to 80 and still pushing boundaries…https://www.eugenieverney.com/counting-down-to-80-and-still-pushing-boundaries/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/counting-down-to-80-and-still-pushing-boundaries/#commentsFri, 31 Aug 2018 07:11:04 +0000http://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34364You just never know who you’re going to meet and where you’re going to meet them. We were on the ferry heading back to Scrabster after our brilliant Orkney break in June when I became aware of a group talking about their own trip. Like us, they’d visited Hoy, but unlike us several of them […]

]]>You just never know who you’re going to meet and where you’re going to meet them.

We were on the ferry heading back to Scrabster after our brilliant Orkney break in June when I became aware of a group talking about their own trip. Like us, they’d visited Hoy, but unlike us several of them had actually climbed the Old Man.

I turned around, expecting to see men and women in their late 40s or 50s, possibly even their 60s. But no. Clearly they were older than that — something confirmed when it emerged that one of the Hoy climbing team was 81!

Then I became aware of a woman in the group telling someone that she’d cycled from Land’s End to John O’Groats —several times.

And that’s how I met my first Making Waves guest blogger, Jancis Richards. She is a retired art teacher and lives with her husband David in Yorkshire.

In 2019, Jancis will turn 80.

It’s an absolute privilege to have her share her remarkable and inspiring story…

Guest blogger Jancis Richards

I was born in Kent in 1939 and have one older brother. We spent World War 2 in Wiltshire where my father worked on a farm before returning in 1946 to the Isle of Thanet. There my father went back to running the family draper’s shop.

My parents were fairly conventional, but free thinking and though neither of them was sporty, they loved the countryside. They took me and my brother to North Wales and the Lake District and — surprisingly! — later allowed me to go youth hostelling with a friend in my teens. This involved trudging over the Cumbrian fells in all weathers, finding our way by map reading.

I believe this experience marked the beginnings of my need for a challenge and this in turn led to an enduring love of individual and unregulated sports.

From an early age, I’d nursed a strong desire to rock climb after poring over a photo in one of my brother’s books. I just knew this was a sport I’d love and could be good at.

After school and college, I began my teaching career in London and joined the North London Mountaineering Club in 1961. Then, when, I found myself heading out of the city every weekend to go climbing, I realised it was time to move on. Next stop was Oxford for three years, then Sheffield and then the Wirral.

I had entered an entirely male-dominated sport in which no woman was expected to be active and certainly not to excel. There were very few of us back then and achieving recognition became a challenge in itself. In the late 1960s, a group from the men-only Climbers’ Club attempted to nominate me for membership by using just my initials, but somebody blew their cover.

Finally — after I had been climbing to a very high standard for a good many years — in 1975 I became the first woman to be elected to the club and later, in 1990, became its first female president. I was then invited to become a vice-president of the British Mountaineering Council, in 1993.

My first husband — we married in 1968 — was an experienced climber, and living on the Wirral was perfect as we were within easy reach of Snowdonia. In 1970, our two sons were born — both in the same year! — and I had to put both teaching and climbing on hold to focus on them. But we still managed to go walking and camping in the hills as a family.

Ski-ing the Grand Couloir, Courcheval, age 73 in 2012.

Around this time, we also learned to ski and this soon became a passion we were able to pass on to our sons who both grew up as proficient skiers.

In 1980, my marriage ended and I had to adjust to life a single parent. So I once again I began youth hostelling — this time with bicycles and two young boys in tow! As they became more independent, I was able to return to regular climbing and we also skied together.

I remarried and my second husband and I have lived in a small village near the foot of the North York Moors for the past 28 years. David shares my passion for climbing, ski-ing and cycling.

And it’s cycling that’s now my main focus. I have over the years developed severe arthritis in my fingers and rock climbing eventually just became too painful. When I realised this wasn’t going to change, it was time to switch to a different sport.

On the bike route from Dover to Durness, 2015.

One sport that could still take me to those wild, high places was distance cycling. We’d already done a few trips, but I began dreaming of more. I have now covered thousands of mountainous miles in the UK, in Europe, and in north America, carrying panniers and a small tent.

I retired from full-time teaching in 1999 and have since been able to spend even more time cycling — often alone, as David didn’t retire until 2016. I have never minded being on my own and I’ve undertaken several long solo excursions with an even smaller tent!

In 2000, we cycled the 1,212 miles from Land’s End to John O’Groats (15 days) and then on to Orkney. We did our second LEJOG in 2005 — in the same year I also cycled solo from Land’s End to North Foreland Lighthouse in Kent (500 miles in 10 days) — and then David and I went for our LEJOG hat trick in 2008. This one took us 16 days.

I’ve also skied some of the most challenging black and off-piste French runs since retiring, including the Grand Couloir in Courcheval, which I tackled in 2011 when I was 73.

My most recent long-distance cycling trips were from Dover to Durness (1,001 miles, 15 days) in 2013, and following the river Moselle from a starting point near Basel through to Amsterdam in 2015 (790 miles, 16 days).

Then, in the autumn of 2015, disaster struck: I fell from a ladder while picking apples in the garden and suffered a serious, almost life-changing, knee fracture. All activities came to an abrupt halt for two long years. I also lost the sight in my left eye and — just to top it off! — had a second hip replacement, five years after the first.

This means I’m now cycling with two artificial hips and a screwed together knee!

At first, I did struggle to stay positive but quickly realised there was no way I could allow these setbacks to ruin the rest of my life. With that thought constantly at the back of my mind, I continue to press on.

I can now walk properly again and have returned to riding my bike in the hills. I have of course modified my goals and I still have to build back my muscle strength. But it is steadily improving and I intend to get back on my skis this winter.

We’re also planning a short cycle tour and life definitely feels a lot more normal.

I can’t pretend age doesn’t come without its challenges, but I also think that each difficulty can be dealt with somehow.

I fully intend to continue living and enjoying an active outdoor life for as many years as I possibly can.

Main image: Jancis in the Scottish Borders on her way to completing her third LEJOG — Land’s End to John O’Groats — distance cycle ride in 2008.

]]>https://www.eugenieverney.com/counting-down-to-80-and-still-pushing-boundaries/feed/6Windermere wow factor… and another SUP shortfallhttps://www.eugenieverney.com/windermere-wow-factor-and-clocking-up-another-sup-dnf/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/windermere-wow-factor-and-clocking-up-another-sup-dnf/#commentsMon, 06 Aug 2018 15:13:34 +0000http://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34343Sometimes you can find yourself part of something that really shifts your perspective. Something that stops you in your tracks for a moment and makes you go ‘wow, just wow!’ A couple of weeks ago I was in Windermere, in the English Lake District, as part of a group of accomplished swimmers who do much […]

]]>Sometimes you can find yourself part of something that really shifts your perspective. Something that stops you in your tracks for a moment and makes you go ‘wow, just wow!’

A couple of weeks ago I was in Windermere, in the English Lake District, as part of a group of accomplished swimmers who do much of their training at my home from home, Bray Lake. Most of them were there to swim the lake — part way, one way, or more — and the rest of us were there to help make that possible.

They were all amazing but one swim stands out.

For context, the furthest I’ve ever swum is 10k, on a fun day out on the Jubilee River which involved getting out several times to navigate weirs and a fair bit of faffing about. The longest ‘official’ swim I’ve logged is 5k along the river Spey back in 2016.

So it was an absolute privilege to be part of the support crew for true distance swimmer Victoria Moore and her two-way Windermere swim on 23 July. Victoria has completed many of the world’s longer solo swims, including the Channel, and first took on the Windermere double 10 years ago. Her goal was to beat her 2008 time.

To play by the rules, you must wear nothing but a normal swimming costume and goggles. You can’t touch your support boat or get anything from your crew, other than food, drink, and lots of encouragement.

In charge of the electric boat during Victoria’s two-way Windermere swim

Victoria set off very early from Ambleside with a canoe escort, and our little support team caught up with her an hour or so later after collecting our electric boat. Then we stayed with her as she made her way towards the other end of the lake. This took more than five hours.

Then she came ashore at Lakeside, took three steps (more rules) — and turned around to swim straight back to Ambleside.

It was at this point I really was stopped in my tracks.

I was already in awe of her achievement in swimming Windermere’s 17.5k length so fast and consistently, but turning around to do it all in reverse?

I honestly felt humbled as I watched Victoria walk back into the water — those three steps took a mental strength, an emotional discipline, a focus that’s way beyond anything I’ve ever achieved or even attempted.

Victoria completed her 35k two-way Windermere swim in 11 hours, 6 minutes and 3 seconds — a jaw-dropping 20 minutes faster than her 2008 time. She was more than a little chuffed! And I had the probably unique experience of helping escort her on my paddleboard — together with one mate in a canoe and two more in a kayak — for the last few kilometres back to Ambleside.

Other highlights of what turned into an unforgettable few days of sun and blue skies were forming part of the support crew — me plus Victoria in a kayak and canoeist Kelvin — for another Bray friend’s swim from Ambleside to the halfway point across from Belle Isle, and on another day paddling the full length of Windermere alongside Kelvin in his canoe.

All extraordinary experiences — not going to attempt to rate them! — and just what I needed after a less than satisfactory outcome at the final GB SUP series race at Sandbanks, Poole, a few days earlier…

Watching with growing concern as the wind at Sandbanks picked up and the waves grew…

So there was me, ocean novice, lined up with some of the UK’s best — men and women, many of whom live and train on the coast — facing 7k of multiple laps with tricky buoy turns in a sea that can best be described as exceedingly lively and unpredictable.

All of it well and truly outside my comfort zone.

To cut a short story even shorter, I pulled out on the first lap. By then I’d already fallen in a couple of times and could see the tail end of the race pulling further and further away. I just did not want to be that person who was repeatedly lapped, or indeed that person who kept everyone else waiting at the end.

So — for the second time on a SUP — I DNFed (did not finish). Some regrets, of course, but I know I made the right call: as Hayling had shown a week earlier, I don’t yet have enough experience on my Starboard to make sea racing a reality when it gets a bit choppy. Maximum respect to everyone who did finish, especially my awesome role model Susan Jones and Bray club mate Issie Jolliffe, who had an amazing race on her inflatable SUP despite no more ocean experience than me.

What’s next?

Well, first stop it’s back to the beach — and the sooner, the better! And I also need to get some swimming in, as I have the small matter of a race on Arran in five and bit weeks’ time…

Main photo: with Victoria Moore (kayak) and Kelvin Abbott (canoe) before we acted as support for a Bray Lake colleague’s Windermere swim from Ambleside to the halfway point at Belle Isle

]]>https://www.eugenieverney.com/windermere-wow-factor-and-clocking-up-another-sup-dnf/feed/3Just change one thing — lessons learned while SUPing at the beach…https://www.eugenieverney.com/just-change-one-thing-lessons-learned-while-suping-at-the-beach/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/just-change-one-thing-lessons-learned-while-suping-at-the-beach/#commentsWed, 18 Jul 2018 11:30:17 +0000http://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34328I’d never been to Hayling Island before but had heard lots about it. My swimming mates and my stand-up paddleboarding mates all rave about this spot on the English Channel coast so when an impromptu outing popped up, I didn’t think twice. With my partner, I set off on 15 July for an early rendezvous […]

]]>I’d never been to Hayling Island before but had heard lots about it.

My swimming mates and my stand-up paddleboarding mates all rave about this spot on the English Channel coast so when an impromptu outing popped up, I didn’t think twice.

With my partner, I set off on 15 July for an early rendezvous with a few of my fellow Bray Lake SUPers, and I am so glad I did!

The weather — this weird, un-British summer weather we’ve been having — was truly glorious: not a cloud in the sky, warming up rapidly, and not much of a wind. Well, not at that point.

Three of us kicked off our Sunday with a swim along the beach. The tide was only just starting to come back in at this point, and the water was flat calm and translucent: ideal for a leisurely pre-breakfast 1k.

But then came the serious stuff.

There was a specific reason why I was so keen to go to Hayling last weekend: I have a race just along the coast this coming Saturday. It’s at Sandbanks, near Poole, and it’s a technical race. This means 7k-worth of laps with lots of sharp buoy turns and little room for error.

Apprehensive? Er, just a little.

Because while I had paddled on the sea before (both times in Fuerteventura), I had never done it on my Starboard. It’s not that the Race isn’t designed for the sea; it’s just that it’s not the ideal choice for the sea when the person on it is still clambering up a sharp learning curve.

But nothing ventured, and in I went. And it was actually fine. I did fall off a couple of times and progress wasn’t exactly rapid, but I stayed upright long enough to clock up a respectable 6.9k, paddling mostly parallel to the beach.

Yay, I thought. Cracked it…

Then it was time for lunch, and by now the tide was really rolling in, the wind had picked up, and there was a lot of chop. A lot. I sat and ate and watched and now I felt really apprehensive. But I knew I had to go back onto the water and see what happened because it could easily be like this for the race.

And what followed was a very short, sharp lesson: it was a completely different experience. Now I was spending at least much time in the water as on it and the waves I was failing to negotiate were pretty much matched by the waves of frustration I was experiencing.

After about half an hour of this uneven struggle, I returned to my mates. Could I borrow one of their boards, please? One that’s wider, flatter, with more volume, like the boards I spent so much time on in Fuerteventura? Of course — here you go.

I really needed to know whether I was just totally out of my depth — as it were — or whether I did have the fundamental skills but merely lacked the experience on my own much narrower board to successfully navigate these conditions.

The answer came pretty quickly: it was the latter. I was absolutely fine on the wide, flat board. I didn’t fall in once, I even managed to ride a few waves, and my confidence came flooding back.

Phew! I relaxed for half an hour and watched as the sea settled again with the falling tide, the wind dropped and the water became increasingly benign once more.

Now I felt great — back on my own board and in a happy place. Yes, I fell in a few times, but only when I was pushing my limits and seeing what would happen.

So big lessons learned here — and actually fully transferable ones!

Change one thing. It all boils down to that.

Session one saw the sea entirely playable for me and my Starboard. Session two, the conditions changed and it was no longer playable. Session three, same conditions but different board, and it’s playable again. And session four, back to pretty much the first set of conditions except even better because of what I’d learned during sessions two and three.

But what if it’s hideous next weekend? Not a lot I can do except forgive myself if I fail to finish the race: as with everything, competence — and eventually excellence — flows from practice and I need to spend much, much more time at the beach to get to a place where I’m totally at one with my own board.

And as I love being next to, in and on the ocean, that’s no hardship at all!

]]>https://www.eugenieverney.com/just-change-one-thing-lessons-learned-while-suping-at-the-beach/feed/5Running through a river and swimming where the Atlantic meets the North Seahttps://www.eugenieverney.com/running-through-a-river-and-swimming-where-the-atlantic-meets-the-north-sea/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/running-through-a-river-and-swimming-where-the-atlantic-meets-the-north-sea/#commentsSun, 01 Jul 2018 22:16:17 +0000http://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34290I’m just back from a magical week which started in the north-east of Scotland where I lived for 17 years and was followed by Orkney — a first for both me and my partner. And I’m still processing it all! We were truly blessed with the weather: all those years spent on the edge of […]

]]>I’m just back from a magical week which started in the north-east of Scotland where I lived for 17 years and was followed by Orkney — a first for both me and my partner.

And I’m still processing it all!

We were truly blessed with the weather: all those years spent on the edge of the North Sea taught me to treasure each blue sky day and it was an absolute joy to return to glorious and (almost) wall-to-wall sunshine. And next to no wind.

The trip was engineered around the Ythan Challenge, the adventure race in Ellon, Aberdeenshire, I co-founded in 2001, and I was back to defend my first vintage woman title. I’d not dared run for 10 days in the run-up after my left calf muscle began bleating, so went into the event not knowing whether I’d actually finish.

Crossing the Ythan in Ellon, Aberdeenshire, the river from which the Ythan Challenge gets its name

And the thing about this race is that the course changes every year, so you never know how far you’re going to run or what you’re going to meet. The 2018 version on 24 June was 12.5k with a fine mix of obstacles, including a crossing of the river that gives the event its name and assorted hay bales, cargo nets, scaffolds, tyres, mud, and other stuff along the way. The final obstacle was a foam-filled bouncy castle — brilliant!

My calf held out until the final 1.5k or so, but I did that tried-and-tested runner’s ‘if I give it no attention it’ll go away’ thing and just cracked on. It didn’t go away, of course, but it didn’t stop me finishing either.

First vintage woman at the 2018 Ythan Challenge

I was chuffed to win my age group again, but actually far more chuffed just to be part of an event that was conjured up with my co-founder over a cuppa at my kitchen table nearly 18 years earlier. The Ythan Challenge was Scotland’s first adventure race and remains a not-for-profit event run entirely by a team of dedicated volunteers with all proceeds going to community youth groups.

Box ticked, next stop Orkney.

The famous John O’Groats signpost in Caithness

We drove north the following morning through glorious, ever-changing countryside to the top of the Scottish mainland. We stopped to pose at the famous John O’Groats signpost before boarding the ferry at Scrabster for the 90-minute crossing to Stromness. Even on a calm midsummer evening there was a fair bit of swell — a reminder that you really don’t mess with the Pentland Firth! The chairs in the restaurant are chained to the floor for a reason…

Part of the magic of being this far north is the long, long summer days and we arrived on Mainland, Orkney’s biggest island, at 8.30pm in broad daylight. In fact, it barely gets fully dark at all in the weeks closest to the summer solstice, even 230 miles further south in Aberdeenshire. And yes, the corollary is of course the short winter days, but let’s live for the moment…

We’d not made any specific plans, but getting in at least one swim was a clearly a must. I’d been accepted into the Orkney Polar Bears wild swimmers’ Facebook group a few weeks earlier and was delighted to find a swim scheduled for the next day in Evie, a village a half-hour drive away from our AirBnB. There were three of us: the host, who came to Orkney when she and her future husband were students and never left, and another visitor like me.

I knew the water was going to be a lot colder than I’d got used to over the past couple of months and so I wore my neoprene vest. And it was indeed colder. A lot. When I’d had my final pre-trip swim at Bray Lake, the water temperature was hovering around 20C; this was little more than 10C, with the air 15C. But that mattered not a jot: it was simply amazing to be swimming in these clear, vibrant waters, pretty much where the Atlantic meets the North Sea. I’d never swum this far north before — another little box ticked.

The following day, more Polar Bears were congregating for a lunchtime dip in Scapa, next to the pier used by the pilot boats and tugs serving the mix of maritime traffic passing through Orkney’s coastal waters.

Post-swim at Scapa, Orkney

Again I wore my vest, but this time both the water and air were a lot warmer and getting in did not take my breath away. I would have happily pottered around for ages, but my three fellow swimmers had places to be and I didn’t want to go it alone in unknown territory. Another truly glorious swim, fully etched in my memory now. The highest of high moments? Following a shoal of tiny fish for maybe 50 metres before they outpaced and outmanoeuvred me, leaving nothing but water and seabed behind.

Swim number 3 — a true bonus — came at the end of one of those days carved out of serendipity.

We’d caught the inter-island ferry to Hoy, going as foot passengers after being told there was no guarantee we’d be able to get a spot for the car on the return leg. We’d decided to stay close to the ferry’s departure point and head back to Mainland in a couple of hours’ time, but as we ambled along a car pulled up.

Did we want a lift to Rackwick, the starting point for the walk to the Old Man of Hoy? Via the sea eagles’ nest? Did we?! Absolutely! And what followed was just perfect. There were five of us: the driver — who lives and runs an environmental consultancy in Orkney — his sister, his sister’s partner and us. And we hit it off from the outset, quickly discovering several areas not just of common interest, but common experience. That six degrees of separation thing exemplified.

The Old Man of Hoy, Orkney. An amazing walk to an iconic location…

The walk to the Old Man and back was jaw-dropping, and viewing the sea eagles’ nest from an RSPB observation post beside the road was both wonderful and humbling in equal measure. Wonderful to be in this pure, wild environment, and to witness something so special; humbling that the excitement was all one-way traffic. Those magnificent raptors give not a toss about us!

So back on the last ferry to Mainland, and back to Evie for my final swim, organised at the last minute by the ever-welcoming Bears. The water was choppier this time, the mood a little edgier — especially when one of the team thought they’d seen a jellyfish and it could have been the one all swimmers fear, a lion’s mane. We started paying much closer attention to what we were doing — especially with two children in the group — and now nobody was in the mood for staying in too long. Would I have chosen a more carefree finale? Maybe, but I also appreciated this stark reminder that the sea — especially this far north — demands a much, much higher level of respect and rigour than the lakes and rivers I’m accustomed to.

We left the next morning having barely scratched Orkney’s surface, doing just a handful of the things visitors do. So we will be back, we will definitely be back.

You may meanwhile have noticed I’ve not used the SUP word once in this post. That’s because my lovely Starboard stayed at home for logistical reasons and nowhere in Orkney rents them. Yup. You can’t rent a paddleboard anywhere, on any of the islands!

A bit of a gap in the market? Yes, indeed. It’s been noted…

Main image: after my first swim at Evie, Orkney. All photos: Bob McKenzie

]]>https://www.eugenieverney.com/running-through-a-river-and-swimming-where-the-atlantic-meets-the-north-sea/feed/6Making my debut as a guest blogger!https://www.eugenieverney.com/making-my-debut-as-a-guest-blogger/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/making-my-debut-as-a-guest-blogger/#respondThu, 21 Jun 2018 15:37:22 +0000http://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34286Delighted to have been invited by Sam to be a guest at her very excellent Loving the Fifty Something blog. Please go and have a look — here’s our Q&A session…

]]>https://www.eugenieverney.com/making-my-debut-as-a-guest-blogger/feed/0On the road to Rutland Water for my next SUP challenge…https://www.eugenieverney.com/on-the-road-to-rutland-water-for-my-next-sup-challenge/
https://www.eugenieverney.com/on-the-road-to-rutland-water-for-my-next-sup-challenge/#commentsTue, 12 Jun 2018 11:40:05 +0000http://www.eugenieverney.com/?p=34273One of the big benefits of running is that there’s not much kit involved. Shoes are obviously the biggie, but once you’ve got those sorted the rest is really just about clothes to match the seasons and maybe a hydration pack once the miles crank up. Same goes for open water swimming: cozzie, cap, goggles, […]

]]>One of the big benefits of running is that there’s not much kit involved. Shoes are obviously the biggie, but once you’ve got those sorted the rest is really just about clothes to match the seasons and maybe a hydration pack once the miles crank up.

Same goes for open water swimming: cozzie, cap, goggles, and you’re good to go. Maybe a wetsuit and some neoprene bits for winter, but that really is pretty much it.

Stand-up paddleboarding? Er, not so much.

OK, I admit this is an own goal: by choosing my gorgeous Starboard Race over an inflatable board, I knew I was making my life a bit more difficult. And expensive. Why? Because to transport the Race from A to B on my own I’ve had to invest in a roof rack, something I’ve never needed before and frankly don’t need for anything else.

And not just the roof rack, of course. Also the lockable straps and the foam roof rack pads to protect the board while it’s sat on top of the car. And on it goes…

But it’s done, and on Friday 8 June, I got a newbie’s lesson in loading a board correctly from Andy at Bray Lake and set off for an Airbnb in Stamford ahead of the next in the GB SUP National series, a race across Rutland Water the following day.

The last time I was there, I was swimming in the reservoir on the first leg of the Vitruvian Half Ironman so it was especially rewarding to look out at this not insubstantial chunk of water and note that I would soon be able to say I’d not only competed in it but on it.

Our SUP race formed part of the National Watersports Festival, so there was plenty going on all weekend and pretty much as soon as I arrived on the Saturday morning I wished I was staying that night as well. But I’d already committed to marshalling at the Jubilee 10k river swim on the Sunday, so that was not an option. Next time…

Crossing the Rutland Water finishing line… Photo: Sarah Thornely

And the race? Brilliant — loved it, even though I was last in my race class (though by no means overall) and it was nearer 11k than the advertised 10. A smaller field than at Cardiff and I was simply out-paddled — especially by my awesome 60s+ role model Susan, who got away from me at the start and stayed away despite my best endeavours! My average speed was a little slower than at Cardiff, but I had no current to assist here. And I still picked up some bling for second Grand Kahuna — Susan and I now have those positions for the series, as there are only two more races to go and we can’t be caught. Yay!

Lessons learned this time? I need to spend more time in windy conditions: although there wasn’t a strong wind — indeed, only just enough for the windsurfers to get some decent momentum — it did challenge me in places. Working with a cross-wind is particularly hard, as to stay on course you have to do all the paddling on one side of the board and my left shoulder was screeching after around 2k of this!

I also need to get back to the sea and spend more time in choppy water that’s moving all the time. Bray Lake is gorgeous, and we do get some challenging days there as I know only too well, but it’s not the same as having to manage chop and motion consistently, for the entire SUP session. Plus my next (and final) GB SUP National race is in Dorset…

But enough of the racing. The high spot of my weekend was in fact meeting the totally awesome SUP adventurer and instructor Sian Sykes, who set off in March — remember March? When it was freezing and grey and wet day after day? — to paddleboard around her native Wales and draw attention to the ubiquitous plastic pollution of our waterways and oceans.

Her SUP Against SUP — stand-up paddleboarding against single-use plastics — mission took her two months, solo and unsupported, and sometimes she was spending up to 13 hours a day on the water. This was the first time anyone had circumnavigated Wales by SUP, and it was an extraordinary feat.

Sian had some surreal moments, such as the night she parked her board at a Bridgnorth undertakers. ‘I figured they’d have to be open 24 hours, so I just asked, and they said, “sure, not a problem”. Then they said: “Would you like a shower, to freshen up?” So I had a shower in a funeral directors office!’

Sian travelled plastic-free throughout, and collected bottles and other single-use rubbish as she went along, creating a ripple effect of awareness everywhere she stopped. ‘Everybody I’ve met has pledged to make a positive change,’ she said.

I have total respect for Sian — total — and for Cal Major who is currently paddle boarding from Land’s End to John O’Groats, also to raise awareness around our profligate use of single-use plastics and their impact on our environment. In fact, I’m in complete awe of both of them!

Why, I wondered, is it the women who are taking on these tough SUP challenges to shift our group consciousness?

Sian isn’t altogether sure, and actually nor am I. What do you think? Let’s open this one up for discussion…

Main image: Over the line at Rutland Water and it’s all done… Photo: Sarah Thornely